Just a little bit
by make-mine-a-kiaora
Summary: Set during season 5 ep 22. Spoilers for this ep. Starts with Jane's thoughts in the car after leaving Sean Barlow and Venice Beach, and later in the case. Then alternates between Lisbon and Jane for the subsequent chapters. Rated T for safety. Reviews are very welcome.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: of course it's not mine and I make no money from fanfiction._

Sean Barlow had spooked her. Clear as a polished mirror.

And not surprising. "Psychic" or otherwise, he was good. Too good.

Oh not the first part – appealing to her religion because of the cross round her neck. Or the observations on her feelings. Even with her professional demeanour and controlled interview techniques, it was obvious that she was in love. Deeply so.

Jane allowed himself a few moments to reflect on her appearance. She was still a cop – it was still clear to carnies like him – but she had softened.

Her make-up and that silky jade top that brought out the light in her eyes.

Her whole stance and fluidity of movement.

But, more than anything, her hair. Her beautiful hair. Cascading freely down her back, clasped away from her face.

It tempted a man. And he was definitely a man. He wanted to run it through his fingers. Revel in it.

But not just that. No. The way it exposed the curve of her neck and her sweet little ears. Led the eyes lower.

He really shouldn't go there. But it would cause any man to contemplate. Not just him. It was a distraction. And one he wasn't going to deny himself.

Lisbon was projecting her femininity in a way that would attract men like the smell of home cooking. At least, cooking in the kind of proper loving home he'd wished for as a youngster and he tried to build with Angela. Clearly it was a reaction to a man of her acquaintance. And her associated wistfulness suggested it was unrequited, unfulfilled.

It didn't take much to figure out it was him she wanted. Who else would be stupid enough to keep her waiting, after all. And he knew that the two of them worked together with an ease and smoothness that spoke of intimacy as much as it did of their long platonic partnership.

He really wished that on the evening in question, they'd been pulling an all-nighter to bring down a perp, followed by 5 am breakfast at a greasy diner. That would have shut Barlow up. But he'd have noticed the fatigue and not made that mistake in the first place. Whilst Jane hated to admit it, the Barlows had always been comsumate showmen when it came down to it. And like all good cons, Sean Barlow's attention to detail was exquisite.

Not just that. The fact that he, a carnie in his blood, took her to visit his 'associate' spoke volumes. He could have given her the slip. Left her holding the ice cream. But these days he didn't want to. He wanted her to know him. To accept him at all levels and he was confident that she did. It must also have been obvious to Barlow that she knew full well of Jane's con-man days and it didn't shock her or repel her. That she bought his 'atonement'.

So that much was no surprise. After all, they were all things he would have seen and Barlow was talented – perhaps even as good as he had been, but certainly no better.

What was, however, disturbing was the choice of words. "You're a little bit in love with him".

That was close, too close, to Lorelei's words in the interrogation room almost a year ago. And then the second one – "honest advice from a friend."

It screamed Red John. And Barlow had disowned the woman he raised as his own daughter – giving her no options but to flee when her relationship hit a buried reef. One arm of the pincer movement. And Roddy had money troubles. How come, he wondered.

And then, there was the small matter of Lisbon's father, and the thing that had really thrown her. She'd covered the first part so well – for Lisbon – that he was proud of her. It couldn't have been easy having her feelings put on public view, but she'd taken it.

But her father… Yes, it was possible to tell if you spent time with her, and if you could cold read her slowly, building on her responses. He'd done that himself when they first met.

Whilst the thought terrified him, he also knew from Lorelei that Red John was fascinated by Lisbon and had probably studied her extensively and closely. How closely, he dared not think.

So as a line from Red John, it would make sense. As Sean Barlow himself, it didn't. Not even if he had followed Patrick's career or genned up on the internet after hearing about Lee-Lee's death. It was too much. And, if the con-man had got it from a third party, he was too arrogant and clever to resist using it. Proving he could do "the impossible". Red John would have known that.

So, Sean Barlow as one arm of the pincer movement. And the woman from child protective services as the other. They needed to get back to Carson and quickly.

Jane cursed the addled state of his mind. He had known that a week of sleep deprivation would be rough but he hadn't expected how slow his mind was now, nor how unpredictable his emotions.

* * *

There was something. Something he didn't want to remember. About the fall out, after the bust up between Barlow and his father. He'd never fully known the details, but somehow the mark bit back and Barlow, slick ass as he was, diverted the blame smoothly. Alex Jane had spent a few weeks in a cosy cell and child protective services had tried to hunt him down. He'd been 11 or so, and forced to go on the lam. He'd never known who'd tipped them off. After all, it wasn't like he'd have had no place else to stay. Pete's folks would have had him for a start. Instead it was living rough, creeping round and occasional meet ups with Sammy who'd tracked him down with the odd food parcel and the news.

He'd made it back, home with his father in their trailer, just after his twelvth birthday. And just before Lee-Lee and that 4th July picnic.

Maybe he had more reason to hate Sean Barlow than he'd thought.

* * *

Such a sweet homecoming. Red John would be proud.

But a baby was still missing, a woman was dead, and her true family were grieving. They had work to do.

Straightening himself up in the car seat, he scrubbed his eyes with the back of his hands before running his fingers through his curls, plumping them up from where they'd flattened against the window.

Lisbon looked over at him, "Hey, sleepy head. Another hour and we'll be back in Sacramento."

"Nah, we're going back to Carson Springs."

"We are?"

"Yeah."

"And the reason is…?"

Jane pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled,

"Van Pelt, I need your help. In tracking a call later this afternoon."

He tapped away on the dashboard as he waited.

"Mmmm.

You'll be there?

Good."

Turning to Lisbon, he gave her his best knock-em-dead smile,

"Why, to find a baby and catch a killer. Or killer's accomplice anyway. What else, my dear?"

Letting out an exaggerated sigh, and shaking her head, Lisbon flipped on the turn indicator at the next junction, Carson Springs it was.

* * *

Later that evening, after a Jane plan that went down remarkably smoothly despite the potential for bloodshed, Lisbon was in her car again.

"Sure you're not coming?" she asked Jane as he checked and rechecked the child seat that he'd installed. She watched as he pulled faces at baby Caitlin, making her laugh.

"Nah. Roddy might knock my lights out before he sees the baby."

He rubbed his head, pulling a mock-grimace of pain.

* * *

As Lisbon sped off into the night, taking Caitlin to her father and surrogate grandparents, Jane watched her go. Seeing Lisbon – Teresa – with a baby. It did things to his insides, to his mind, that he refused to look at too closely.

It was better this way.

And he didn't want Sammy or Pete noticing either.

Closed case pizza awaited. At least for the abduction. And it was Cho's turn to order.

He'd make sure that Rigsby didn't start on it without her.

And after that, the attic. And a DVD to watch.

And then, if he was really lucky, a chance to sleep. And perhaps to dream of jade eyes, flowing hair and pale skin.

* * *

Two hours later, Jane slumped over his desk as his third re-watch of the recording came to an end. He'd expected the news of Lorelei's dead body, when they'd found her, two weeks after the Jason Lennon incident. But not this.

And how?


	2. Chapter 2

_I definitely don't own the Mentalist or make any money from fanfiction. This chapter is from Lisbon's POV._

_Thank you for the reviews or if you followed or favourited._

Half an hour after the pizza boxes were cleared away, I have just finished the immediate paperwork around the return of baby Caitlin to her father, ready to file it in the morning. Cho, Rigsby and van Pelt have all left for the night. They deserve an evening off, to start again on this newest Red John case tomorrow. It's not like we can expect any breaks on that anytime soon. We can see if Miriam Gottleib is any more forthcoming after a night in the cells, though the way in which she switched off when Jane opened that envelope made me wonder if she'd been hypnotised or brainwashed in some other way. Or maybe it was the kind of shutdown that you sometimes see in people who have been badly abused, particularly as children.

No sight of Jane so I guess he's in the attic.

Well, no time like the present. If the DVD was nothing, Jane would have been back down here by now. Unless, of course, he's dozed off. Either way, it's time to find out.

Bashing on his door, I am surprised that it opens so quickly. He must have been waiting for me. One look in his eyes tells me it's bad. He looks dazed. In shock. As I step past him, I hear him re-sealing the door before he guides me to the seat at his little table and hits the play button on my laptop.

Lorelei Martins! That was a shock. It was around 2 months ago now that we found her mutilated body beneath a smiley face on that fairground rig. And that was definitely Lorelei – we'd made sure. Oh God. This was cruel. I never did work out exactly what Jane's feelings towards her were but I know that they ran deep. Much as I hated it, Jane and Lorelei had a connection, even if he plays it down. They had sex. And he's been up here alone. Watching this.

I look up but all I can see is his back. He's staring out over the Sacramento skyline. And I really don't know what to say.

Lorelei begins to speak, and I note from the black eye and the bandage on her arm that she's been in some kind of a fight.

"Patrick, you can see that things didn't exactly work out as I had planned. You may say 'I told you so.'"

I feel Jane's gaze as it flicks to me. Dammit. What has he been keeping from me?

Lorelei continues, explaining Red John's reactions, and I am stuck by her courage and her dignity. I never liked the woman. Even my mindless jealousy aside – and I can see that I was jealous – she was a vicious little minx in our custody. But here I can see the woman that Jane was attracted to. The person she could have been if Red John had not taken an interest in her and her sister. I can only hope that if I ever find myself in the position Lorelei has, captive and waiting for a tortuous and drawn out death at the hands of a sadistic psychopath, that I face it even half as well.

Jane throws me another look. More lingering this time. And I can see that his thoughts are similar. How do you handle the knowledge of your imminent and agonising demise?

And then we get to the letter from Red John, and the suspect list. One head of an international cult with major financial and political clout, one senior member of Homeland Security, seconded to work with the CBI and FBI, four members of law enforcement, including the CBI director, and one CSI technician. And the law enforcement covers the CBI, FBI and local PD. What the hell.

But….not only has Jane come up with this list, Red John has done so independently, ahead of him.

Oh, hell.

And now, Red John is going on the rampage. Just what we need.

I look back over the names, and their photos stare at me from the edge of the laptop. I can't believe it. I know all of these people and have worked with most of them. One of them is Red John?

Brett Stiles – powerful, charismatic and skilled in mind games, including, most likely, hypnosis. Leader of Visualise – a highly secretive cult known to have deeply infiltrated many organisations including the CBI. Unproven speculation has linked him with at least one murder and, circumstantially, several others. He has, on occasion, acted as the mouthpiece of Red John.

Gale Bertram – Director of the CBI! My boss!

Ray Haffner - a senior special agent in the CBI with known links to Visualise and likely to have been at Elleston Farm at the time of the murders there. Quiet and controlled but determined. The man who had tried to lure me away from the CBI and my team – exploring my price, in a way. Also affable and charming. Highly intelligent. Expert in creative surveillance… And someone I had considered a valued colleague!

Reede Smith – An FBI hothead and borderline thug. Smart ass.

Bob Kirkland - an unknown quantity if ever there was one. Powerful and well connected as able to come and go throughout law enforcement at will. Heavily involved in cases with Lorelei Martins and other Red John associates. Possible murderer of Jason Lennon. A fixer? Or Red John. And also potentially big on sureptious monitoring. The way in which he muscled in on Lennon in the ambulance. How did he know?

Sheriff Tom McAllister – why on earth would he be on the list? A small town rural sheriff. OK, we dealt with 2 trainee psychopaths on his turf – the Shand Creek Winery – but they both died and there were no apparent links to the Sheriff. He just seemed a bit on the unimaginative and less than thorough side.

Brett Partridge – as Jane would say, a ghoul who enjoys his work too much. Knowledgeable in crime scene interrogation and forensics. Potentially another fixer? Difficult to see how he would attract the range and breadth of followers that have shown loyalty to Red John - Dumar Hardy, Todd Johnson, Rebecca from Bosco's office, Gupta, the bomb-crazy garage attendant, Craig O'Laughlin, Timothy and Sally Carter, Lorelei Martins and now Miriam Gottlieb and possibly Sean Barlow as well.

But then again, the most dangerous and sadistic sociopaths and psychopaths often masquerade as the most ordinary, every day kind of people. So what do I know?

* * *

I must have been staring at the names for quite a while because, when my phone rings, it startles me. Jane is still impassive by the window.

We're up. Miriam Gottleib. Well that's a surprise.

"Jane, let's go…." I order.

"Meet you in the lot in 5 minutes," he promises.

Time to grab my bag from the office and get to work. I'll call the others on my way out.

If I keep busy, focus on the task in hand, I won't need to worry about what to tell them.

What am I going to say?

* * *

Arriving on site, 25 minutes later, it's clear that Miriam Gottlieb was poisoned. The small ziplock plastic bag suggests a tablet and its location is consistent with, though not necessarily indicative of, suicide. Did she have it on her? We didn't strip search her so it could have been in her bra or up her sleeve. And she knew the game was likely to be up before she arrived at the house. Alternatively, did one of the local PD give it to her? Or the driver? He certainly looks shaken though I'll await Jane's call on that.

One thing is for sure. Red John's network is far larger and far more powerful that I'd ever dared to contemplate.

As I turn away, with a deep sigh, Cho moves alongside me.

"You OK, boss?" he asks quietly.

I really wish I knew!


	3. Chapter 3

_I definitely don't own the Mentalist or make any money from fanfiction._

_A/N I realised after posting that I'd gone from a 3__rd__ person perspective when writing about Jane to a first person one for Lisbon. I hope that this doesn't break up the story too much as it's not the smoothest transition. However, I'll keep to this for the remainder of the story so as to be consistent._

* * *

**_Jane's POV_**

Lisbon looks all in. No wonder Cho's concerned. The slight drag to every other footstep. The tension in her shoulders, locked to take the weight of the world. Dear Saint Teresa. She'd never even wonder if it was all hers to bear.

There's nothing more that we can do here. We can await the coroner's report tomorrow, and fingerprinting on the seats and the plastic bag, but that's about it. And all the evidence will suggest suicide. I'm convinced of it. The way that she locked down when she saw the DVD. Like it was a trigger. I knew then that we wouldn't learn anything else, irrespective of whether Red John had her killed or brainwashed her into the act. At least I don't suspect the driver. He's genuinely shocked and horrified.

I can't help wondering about the loyalty that Red John inspires, particularly in the vulnerable. The likes of Miriam and Rebecca. Jason Lennon gave me some idea as to how he stalks his prey – some to kill, others to control – and yet those he chooses to keep hold him in the deepest respect and regard.

Another tranche of his disciples appear to be drawn in by the promise of power – the O'Laughlin's and Gupta's, and likely Sean Barlow - how apt those weasel words are now about Red John playing me - whilst the remainder share the psychopathic persuasion – like Hardy and the Carters.

And then there's Lorelei. Partly turned through the brainwashed victim route, partly independent and feisty. I was almost glad to see the calm fatalism on her face when I first saw the video. Just like in Vegas. I hoped it could sustain her through her final hour. But by the end of that letter, I knew it couldn't. She was brave and stubborn and desperately scared. And not just concerning her own fate, I think. Still, I did all I could to get her to accept my help back at Lennon's and she reneged on our deal. I did warn her.

I wonder how many others, if any, are in his inner circle and whether they have – to quote Brett Stiles - a similar "vim". He did plan to make me one of them. Does it reflect the hierarchy at Visualise?

I do know one thing for sure. Red John is mad as all hell that I got so much from the woman he sent to tempt me. That I took his queen. In more than just the obvious sense. And, whilst the whole Lorelei thing may have stress tested the relationship between Lisbon and I – and to my shame, caused Teresa a great deal of hurt and worry – we've snapped back together just as strongly as before and maybe more so.

So, on the score card between him and me, Lorelei wasn't his win. If anything, she was mine. It's making him reckless and even more dangerous. Whilst I was sure he was one of the seven names before, I'm convinced of it now.

Going over Lorelei's video, she didn't leave any real clues. Just a long pause before Raymond Haffner and a short pause before Bob Kirkland. I wonder if that has any relevance.

It's gone midnight and the night's chill is creeping through. I lean on the concrete wall – a warehouse most likely – and watch as the team combs the scene. Checking and double checking and then, would you guess, checking again. Come on please. It's long gone time for a good cup of tea and a date with the couch. Maybe I'll sleep in the bullpen tonight. Keep an eye on Lisbon and her office. I bet she carries on working till she flakes out on her keyboard.

Silly woman!

And she's not going home alone. Not if I can help it.

Underneath it all, the fully grown panic monster is tossing off its chains - biofeedback or no biofeedback - and I can't let it win. It will destroy me before he does. And if I'm a wreck, who'll look out for her. Stay when she threatens Cho, Rigsby and van Pelt to the point that they give her space.

The natural revenge for Lorelei is for Red John to kill Lisbon. I know it. She knows it.

And she's never going to be alone again.

I can't lose her. I just can't.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Mentalist and make no money from fanfiction_

_Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, favourited or followed this story. It makes my day._

_Lisbon's POV_

2.30am. Crime scene reviewed and the coroner on standby to remove Miriam Gottleib's body. A quiet and understated man who works efficiently without getting in the way. And a very pleasant change from Brett Partridge. I must say that I'm glad.

"OK everyone, let's call it at a night." I look round at my team. None of them ever complain but I can see that they're whacked. Cho has distanced himself slightly, with the thousand yard stare that he has when he doesn't want to be disturbed. Rigsby is pushing himself along on autopilot. Van Pelt is trying to hide it but her eyes are wide, fixed and a little bit glassy. And as for Jane…

Jane? Where is he? Looking up and down the road, there's no sign of him and he hasn't crawled into the SUV and curled up in the passenger seat. Nor the back. Continuing on a little further, I round the corner and find him. He's slumped against the warehouse wall with his knees drawn up and his head lolling on his right forearm. His left arm has flopped by his side. He's fast asleep.

For a moment, I stand and watch over him. The sight of him like that, completely out, makes me want to reach out to him, shield him with my body and protect him from the world. I taste blood. I must have bitten my lower lip. I worry at it with my teeth and tongue whilst I try to think.

What should I do? I don't want to wake him. I'd like to settle him down more comfortably, wrap him in a blanket and watch over him till daybreak. More than any of us, he needs this. He's been running on exhaustion for so long now. It's easy to forget just how fragile he is sometimes.

And after the last few hours…

But I can't move him without waking him. Not even Rigsby and Cho together could manhandle him to the vehicle without disturbing him. And he needs to be somewhere warm and safe, not propped up by cold concrete.

"Jane", I reach out and gently shake his shoulder. "Jane, come on, wake up."

He moans and shifts, moving away from my touch.

I try again, a little more forcefully, "Jane, wake up."

He opens his eyes to half mast and peers at me blearily.

"Lisbon?"

I take advantage of his stupor to try to move him without him fully rousing. "We need to get back to the SUV. I want you to come with me."

I pull on his elbow, my other hand on his shoulder, as I coax him to stand and position his arm around my neck, gripping his hand with one of mine. My other grasps at the small of his back, burrowing into his jacket and vest. He's a bit unwieldy like this, but it's OK, we can manage.

Getting him settled in the passenger seat, and reaching across to secure his seatbelt, I'm relieved to see that Jane is falling back into his slumber. He's out again by the time I throw the space blanket from the first aid kit over him. Closing the door against him carefully, I make my way to the driver's seat and lock the doors, pushing the key into the ignition, and placing my Glock in the side pocket. I let myself sink into my seat, head thrown back and eyes closed, as I come to a stop.

* * *

The feel of something poking my arm startles me back to alertness. I shiver against the cold now seeping into my body though my thin jacket. The sky is lightening in the pre-dawn and Jane is staring at me with a slight smirk on his face. I must have dozed.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself," I reply, scrubbing the sleep from my eyes. "What time is it?"

"Time we change places so I can drive." He tosses off the blanket and leaps out of the vehicle looking far too perky for this time of morning. The next thing I know, he's at my door, pushing and cajoling me into the passenger seat and wrapping me in the blanket. It's hot with his warmth and I shudder for a different reason.

The nap I must have taken has left me confused. I shake my head, trying to get things straight. "So did that all happen?"

He looks sombre. "If by 'that', you mean the Eileen Turner case, Sean Barlow creeping you out, Miriam Gottleib's death and the DVD from our mutual friend, then yes, I'm afraid it did."

I was afraid he'd say that. For a short while I'd almost believed it was a nightmare.

"Look Lisbon, I'm taking you back to your place and we'll grab some take out for breakfast. I know you need your caffeine and I'd kill for a good cup of tea. Then you can sleep another couple of hours and get changed before work. "

"Mmm." The thought of a giant cup of steaming coffee is beginning to make a few of the synapses spark. I'll need a small vat of it to fully function though.

Jane fiddles with the radio, setting it to a jazz station that we both like. As he drives, for once at a sensible speed, I stare out of the window and try to get a grip.

Red John. Sean Barlow. Lorelei Martins.

Seven names. Seven.

And all hell about to break loose.

One thing is certain. Red John knows that we know – at least roughly – who he is. And the threat is against all of us. The whole team. And not only that. Jane and I are going to need all the help we can get and there's only Cho, Rigsby and van Pelt that I trust with this. I'm going to tell them. About the case, about the DVD and the names, everything.

I'm sure Jane will fight me on this. And I need to be fully caffeinated before I start on about it with him. But my mind is made up.

We need to talk about this and we need to do it now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Jane's POV**

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Mentalist and make no money from fanfiction_

_Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, favourited or followed this story. _

Lisbon's in a trance, staring out of the passenger window, and I can almost hear the pulleys and switches whir and click as she contemplates. She needs caffeine, before the grumpy guts takes over, and makes today even harder. Whatever she may think, she has no real concept of deception. If she finds herself face to face with one of those seven men today, I don't know what she'll do. I'm not even sure what I'll do. She's not being left alone with any of them, that's for sure. Even if I have to accompany her to the restroom. At least Bertram's office is at the DoJ. That only leaves Haffner, and maybe Kirkland, at the CBI. If Haffner hasn't left yet on his Visualise venture. Somehow that sounds too easy.

And as for the team. My man Cho could hold it together, but Rigsby and van Pelt have even less guile than Lisbon! They mustn't know. Not yet. Not until it becomes impossible to hide it any longer. I don't want Red John lifting the truth out of their minds. Van Pelt's still convinced in the existence of psychics. She doesn't need any "proof" to turn her head even more or it'll be pirouetting on her neck like a spinning top. Considering all she's been through, she's still naïve. And, for an intelligent man, Rigsby's one of the easiest marks I've ever met. They're both fiercely loyal but just not discerning enough. Not when it's Red John we're chasing. Or who is chasing us. Ignorance may not keep them safe but it's the best protection I can offer them. I wish I could do the same for Lisbon, but I know it's too late for that. Red John knows my weakness. And hers, for that matter.

Marie's. I pull up by the kerb, pleased to see that the bakery doors have just opened. We should have our pick of the pastries, straight from the oven, and a chance to get a decent cup of tea and two large cups of rich roast coffee, before it gets busy. We can grab our breakfasts and eat in the SUV. That way, my NRA poster girl will have 3 weapons in reach and locked doors at her back. And we don't want to freak out the customers. She's already donning her trusty Glock and holster.

Jumping down from the vehicle, I inhale the warm scent of baking and stretch, lifting my arms and face to the morning sun. It's already warm, despite the early hour, and it looks like we're in for another scorcher of a day. I've travelled across the country from coast to coast but nothing beats early morning in California.

We procure our food without incident - a Bear Claw for Lisbon and two cinnamon rolls for me – and return to the SUV. I'm a little surprised that Lisbon goes straight to the passenger's seat, without trying to get the car keys off me first. As soon as she's demolished that pastry, I can sense a serious talk coming on. She's not even finished the first of her coffees.

"Jane," she opens.

"Mmm."

Oh yeah. She's right on cue.

"About last night. The DVD…"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Do you? Do you think it's real? That one of those men is Red John? It was one heck of a blinder."

I savour my tea for a few moments, thinking about how best to reply.

"Do I think it was genuine? Yeah, I do. I'm sorry."

"But… I know those guys. Some of them well."

I turn to face her, hoping she can see how serious I am.

"I know, Lisbon."

We both sit for a few minutes, letting the silence steep. Eventually, I decide it's brewed enough.

"Look, I know it's going to be hard on you. Hard on both of us. But we've got to carry on as normal. One of them is Red John but the others could all be innocent. Or each associated with him in some nefarious way. We don't know yet. And the closer he thinks we are…

Are you going to be able to go through with this?"

"I have to."

"That's true."

I pause for a few moments and then decide to strike, "You will cope because you have to. I know it. And I know it's a terrible burden. That's one of the reasons I think we should keep this to ourselves for now."

"You mean, not tell the team? No. Wait…"

"That's exactly what I mean. Let's not make it as difficult for them. At least not until we have to."

"No, Jane. I'm not going along with that. The team deserve to know. They've been hunting this monster as long as you and I have and I'm not excluding them. They're brave and dedicated professionals and we need them. There's no-one else I trust."

She's getting agitated. If I don't take control now, she'll be in full rant before she knows it.

"You can't shut them out. They're in this just as deep, and as much at risk, and they deserve my loyalty. Our loyalty. And…"

"Lisbon," I cut in, turning and grasping her shoulders so she has to face me, "I'm not saying that they aren't. It's not that I don't trust the guys. But this is delicate. We need to keep it on the down-low."

"Jane!" The indignation is coming out now, "You can't hope to take on Red John alone. Didn't Lorelei's death show you that? We need the team. Van Pelt's computer and research skills and Cho and Rigsby's investigative techniques. We're taking on a monster. Who has allies and minions. Maybe a lot more than we know about. You can't, we can't, do that alone. We must make use of the people we have. Give them the option to help us or the right to walk away. You know what each of them will decide."

"I'm trying to keep them safe, Lisbon, minimise their visibility as targets."

"Sheep dip! I'm a cop, they're all cops. It's our jobs and our choices to be in harm's way. To give everything we have, even our lives if necessary. We serve and protect the people of this state. All of us. We know the score.

And besides, did it keep Eileen Turner safe? What did she know of Red John? What did she do to him? Nothing, from what I can see. He wanted to mess with your head and she was just a pawn."

I try to interrupt but she's on a roll.

"And besides, Jane, we need to think about the investigation. Let's say Red John does come for me, or for you…"

I cut across her. "Don't say that. Don't."

"Why not? We're both targets. And we're the only ones who know the shortlist. If the team has to find one or both of us dead one day, don't you think they should have all the facts. Or would you rather they had to go back to the beginning. To suspecting every man in the State of California? Or do you plan to find a way to tell them, from inside your coffin?"

"Lisbon! No need to get snarky."

I stop, take a deep breath and try to calm myself a little. Continuing to escalate the situation is not going to help. I need to be in control. Careful. Mama bear Lisbon will not stand for any slights about those she claims under her command, real or imagined.

"I know that Cho, Rigsby and van Pelt are all loyal, dedicated and seasoned professionals and I have no doubts about how courageous each one of them is. You make a number of interesting points and I'm not saying we never tell them. Just not yet."

I have one last card to deal, and it's a clincher.

"I'm concerned, Teresa. We have an active case in the Eileen Turner murder. We know Red John targeted her himself and killed her personally. It was "important to him" as a way of messing with me and taking me back to my roots. At some point, he had to have help from carney folk. Most likely Sean Barlow. But he had to have made contact, built bridges, and that's not easy with my kind, as you know. Unless he's carney himself. I'm not aware of anything in the background of our suspects, and I don't remember any of them from my childhood, but there must have been a way in. And carneys are observant, a bit more suspicious than most people and have long memories. It goes with the territory.

So I'd like to work the case and work it properly, without other distractions. If a link does come up to one of our seven scumbags, I'm going to notice it. But I don't want the team missing anything because they're too busy trying to identify the Red John link. We've got to believe that, for once, the son-of-a-bitch may have made a mistake. And, if he has, we're going to find it.

I'd like to get up to speed with Sean and what happened in the intervening years. See how he could have met Red John. His price appeared to be the baby but, sadly for him, he didn't get paid. I can feel another trip to Venice coming on."

Lisbon listened, considering carefully.

"OK, Jane. For today, we'll keep it quiet and work the Turner case. But we are going to revisit this and soon."

That was the best I could hope for. I flash her my best showbiz smile and slurp the tea from the bottom of my cup.

"So, my dear, your apartment or the office?"

I've started the engine and turned in the direction of the CBI before she even responds. She doesn't need to. Anything else just wouldn't be my Lisbon!


	6. Chapter 6

_Thank you to Sue Shay for beta reading this chapter. Her thoughtful, constructive comments and suggestions made a huge difference and are much appreciated._

_Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with the 'Mentalist' and make no money from fanfiction._

Back at the CBI, duly fortified on two large coffees, I unlock my office door and settle in for the day. Jane's already stretched out in the bullpen, faking sleep. It feels like he's watching over me with some weird kind of X-ray vision. He's giving off that subtle alertness vibe.

So…cases. We have Eileen Turner and Miriam Gottleib. Unless the coroner's office throws something up, the latter is a suicide. Closed case. Though we need to investigate her links to Red John, which is also part of the Turner case. So Turner is the priority.

Then, lastly, we have the Lorelei Martins file. Given events last night, we should review this too, though I'd hoped Jane would never have to do that. I didn't know whether to thank Bertram or despair when he threw Red John back at us. I should have known that Homeland Security wouldn't hold onto the case – high profile and impossible to crack. I'm surprised they kept it as long as they did - till after Jason Lennon's 'natural' demise, when Kirkland suddenly lost interest. Another mystery - I know Jane always suspected foul play but we'd never prove that.

Almost 8am. Where has the time gone?

The elevator door pings, and I look up to see van Pelt heading to her desk. Despite the late night, she's here early, ever the professional. A few minutes later, both Cho and Rigsby appear. I'd never tell them but I can see why Bosco's old team called them Burt and Ernie. Apart from the slight smudge under Cho's eyes, you'd never know that he'd had a sleepless night. The one certainty in this world is that nothing ever fazes him. Rigsby though, he looks jaded. He's never a morning person and you can see that he's struggling from his stoop and the way he's hanging back. At least the coffee in his hand should revive him. I'll give him a couple of minutes. I need to go through my notes once more anyway.

OK. Looks like we're all ready. I step into the bullpen, preparing to brief the guys on the finer aspects of the Eileen and Caitlin Turner story, when it hits me. Red John could be one of the people I work with. He could have unrestricted access to the CBI, either directly or through a minion. He could be watching and listening to everything we say!

I stop, staggering a little. Rigsby looks up in alarm.

"Boss?" He stands, reaching for my elbow. "You OK?"

"Yeah. Fine thanks." I brush him off and force myself to appear calm and in control. It doesn't matter what kind of maelstrom lies beneath. I am a Senior Special Agent. I haven't been cowed by serial killers before and I don't intend to start now. I just wish that the migraine starting over my right eye was so easy to convince. Or the radiating pain from where O'Laughlin shot me.

"OK." I'm relieved, my voice doesn't shake much. "Let's get started. We know that Eileen Turner was murdered by Red John. When Jane and I talked with Miriam Gottleib, she told us that she'd taken on Caitlin as a favour to Red John and that he had been a good friend to her for a long time."

Rigsby lets out a low whistle, "With friends like that…"

I ignore him and keep going. "Van Pelt, I'd like you to look into Miriam Gottleib. What was her background? We know from the Miranda Roman case that Red John preyed on women in one shelter and maybe more. Did Miriam have any major personal trauma? Anything that might have made her an easy recruit? Also anything on her professional life, especially her posting to Carson Springs and everything since."

"On it, boss."

Turning to look at my other agents, I see Rigsby's rooting through his bag. In search of another sandwich or snack bar no doubt. He looks up as I pause.

"Cho, Rigsby, visit with Gottleib's partner again. Ruth Jamieson. Break the news gently. I don't think she's involved but you never know what Miriam might have let slip that could be useful. Keep an open mind. If you have any doubt, arrange a time for her to come in and Jane can have a go at her."

Cho nods. "Boss".

"Before you go though, let's recap what we know on the Eileen Turner case. Jane?"

Jane sits up, the leather of the sofa squeaking as he slides over it. He swings his legs onto the floor and groans, running one hand through his curls. Then he yawns. Pointedly. What a con artist. He's not getting away with that.

"In your own time please. If necessary, we can wait all day…"

"Meh."

He rolls his shoulders a couple of times and stretches. Then jumps to his feet and comes to stand behind van Pelt.

"Eileen Turner, nee Barlow, spent some time on the same carney circuit as I worked until I left when I turned 16. She was adopted – officially or unofficially I don't know – by her uncle Sean Barlow when she was orphaned as a toddler. When she took up with Roddy Turner, Sean disowned her. I'm 98% sure that he's working for Red John in some capacity."

I don't doubt he's right but we need more evidence.

"Van Pelt?"

"Everything I found yesterday is consistent with what Jane just said. Eileen was the sole survivor of a multi-vehicle wreck when she was 18 months old. Sean Barlow, her mother's older brother, adopted her. There were no other family members and no-one contested the adoption. At that time, they were resident in the encampment up at Stony Ridge."

She pauses for a moment, scrolling down her computer screen.

"Later that year, the Barlows left the carnival circuit and moved to San Francisco. Sean filed no tax returns but there are a couple of traffic violations on file, as you can see here." She taps the monitor screen. "He was investigated several times for fraud and petty theft, one time along with an Alex Jane, but no charges were ever brought. Five years ago, he moved to Venice Beach, where he's been ever since. I can find no record of Eileen after 2008. Not until her marriage certificate last year…"

"Good work." I turn back to Jane. "Any more thoughts?"

"Eileen must have been back on the circuit a while before she met Roddy and Sean disowned her."

Jane looks into the middle distance, tapping his lower lip with his finger. The great mind is at work! Then he re-animates, leaning over and grabbing van Pelt's mouse.

"So, these are all the records you found on Eileen?"

He holds up one finger before van Pelt can reply. "Rhetorical question, Grace."

Dropping the mouse, he looks up at Rigsby, Cho and I.

"Questions: what was Eileen doing between March 2008 and June 2012, when she married? My guess: Sean sent her back to the carnival. Put her to work. Pete reckoned the trouble didn't start between them until she took up with Roddy and that Sean was always sniffing round the camp. She'd have been a good excuse for him to drop by. Keep tabs. But once it became serious with Roddy, Sean freaked out and tried to split them up. When that didn't work, he turned his back on his daughter. In carney terms, that's absolute.

And what caused the rift between Eileen and Roddy? Money troubles, so I heard. But what kind? How did Child Protective Services get involved? Who called them?"

Van Pelt turns to look at him over her shoulder. "I can check."

"Yes." He pauses just for a moment. "And see what you can dig up on my father, Alex Jane. He and Sean used to be close but I don't know what happened later. I can't help there. Haven't seen him in 31 years and I have no wish to."

"Right-o."

That's been a useful discussion and everyone has plenty to be going on with. Now it's time to get moving. Van Pelt's already tapping away, pencilling notes on the pad by her keyboard. I turn to Cho and Rigsby.

"So guys, if we're all set, let's get to work. Jane and I are heading back to Venice Beach to see if we can catch up with Sean Barlow. Van Pelt, call me when the tox results are in on Gottleib."

* * *

I head back to my office. I'm grabbing my jacket and gun when the phone rings. Oh, God. It's Bertram.

"Sir?" I hope he hasn't heard the squeaky note I finish on. Jane comes up behind me, resting his hand on my shoulder and gently squeezing. I draw strength from his presence.

"Agent Lisbon. I hear that there are new developments in the Red John case. Abduction as well as murder."

"Yes, sir. But…"

"Surely I don't need to tell you agent, that this looks bad. The media are having a field day."

"I… I understand sir. We found the baby though. She is with her father now and the abductress is dead."

"Red John has an accomplice!"

"Had, sir. Miriam Gottleib died last night. We're waiting on the coroner's report but the early indications are suicide."

"I see. It's time I had a full briefing on this case. Come to my office at 9am tomorrow."

"Tomorrow. Ah, yes sir. I will be there."

Bertram ends the call in his usual abrupt manner. My heart sinks like a millstone in the ocean. What am I going to do?


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you to Sue Shay for beta reading the first draft of this chapter. Her insightful comments and suggestions were extremely useful and I have tried to incorporate them into an updated story chapter. Sue is not only a talented writer but also an excellent teacher. Any mistakes in this chapter are, of course, my own._

_This is a long chapter but I didn't want to break it as I wanted it all to be from Jane's POV and the next chapter is Lisbon's._

_Disclaimer: I have no rights to "The Mentalist" and make no money from fanfiction._

* * *

Lisbon looks dreadful. She reminds me of a tree bending over the river as its roots are washed away, swaying with each treacherous gust of wind. How much more can she take?

I wonder what further shocks are coming. For each of us. It's clear that this is only the beginning.

Entering the elevator, I push the button for the parking garage whilst Teresa leans against the wall, her eyelids quivering as she lets them fall. I watch discreetly, wondering whether to ask her what she's thinking or, better, find a way to irritate her. At least that would ease her anxiety. An angry Lisbon has no fear.

She beats me to it, straightening and fishing her car keys from her jacket pocket as the doors slide open. Agent Lisbon is back in the building!

As we walk towards the vehicle my phone rings.

"Paddy?" It's Pete but from the stammer it doesn't sound good. "That you?"

"Yeah, what's up?" Something's definitely very wrong. "Where are you?"

"Still at Stony Ridge."

My heart drops. I'd hoped they were long gone by now. Outta state ideally. But as Pete clears the gunk in his throat -the nervous tic of a chronic smoker –I remember that he needs me.

"So what can I do for you?"

"Well we've had a visit. Or leastways, I had. Roddy and Sammy were off shopping with Caitlin. Damn good job. That son-of-a-bitch…"

"A visit from who Pete? Sean Barlow?"

"You got it in one. Here full of his bluster about how Caitlin should be his. No matter what. And how he's going to get her. A load of bullshit about how he'd paid for the kid so she belonged to him. Not us."

"Mmm. Did he say how?"

"Nah. Just some garbage about how nobody double crosses Sean Barlow. Who does he think he is?"

"Hang on in there Pete. Pepper and I'll be up to see you. Do me a favour though."

"What?"

"Get packed up and ready to leave. Stony Ridge isn't safe anymore. I'm guessing the others are back? Sammy got you to call me?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Don't let them out of your sight."

I end the call and turn to Lisbon. She's grabbed some water from the stash in the back - used it to wash down some painkillers no doubt – and is now getting settled in the SUV. It's clear that one of her headaches is starting. She's got that scrunchedness in the side of her face. And from the way she favours her left arm, I'd say the tension isn't doing her old shoulder injury any good either. I wish I could help her – a little massage or some guided relaxation - but there's no way she'd let me. We'll just have to hope that the pills work their magic.

And now we have a change of plan I guess and I need to update her. "Sounds like Sean Barlow won't be home. We need to swing by Stony Ridge. Talk to Pete."

"OK."

I love this woman and how easily she adapts to things. Needless to say, she's driving. I wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

As we leave the CBI, en route for Carson Springs, I fill her in and watch as she begins to see the implications.

"So who did Sean pay to abduct Caitlin? Doesn't make sense. Miriam Gottleib believed that she was keeping the child. And Red John has never acted as a mercenary before. It'd be beneath him surely."

"I know. That's what makes this interesting. Red John expected us to find Miriam and to take Caitlin back. That's why he left her with the disc. He'd have known that Caitlin would go back to her father. If he wanted Sean to have her, he'd have taken her somewhere else. Visualise maybe."

Lisbon half turns to look at me, carefully considering, before returning her attention to the road.

"So, what you're saying is that Red John manipulated Sean Barlow in some way and then left him hanging. From Barlow's perspective, treated him like a mark?"

"Exactly."

I stare out of the window at the passing Californian countryside whilst I give Lisbon a little more time to think.

She opens her mouth as if to speak but then stalls and looks back at her driving. Then she sighs in exasperation before blurting, "How do you think Red John got to know Sean Barlow in the first place? And… And you mentioned Sean's links to your father. Could he be involved in this somehow?"

OK. Not the questions that I was expecting from her, but good ones nevertheless.

"In answer to the first question. I don't know. Not yet. And as to the second?" I find myself shrugging my shoulders as I remember. My dear father. The bastard didn't even come to their funerals. Not even a note.

"I understand if you don't want to talk about it." I recognise Lisbon's walking on barely crusted lava tone. "But considering everything, it might help make sense of what's happening. What went on between you and your father?"

I smile grimly.

"My dear father. That would be a long story." I pause and collect my thoughts for a few moments. Could my father be involved in all of this? I couldn't be sure that he wouldn't. If he was still alive? Perhaps I should have asked Pete but I really didn't want to know.

I glance back at Lisbon. She's feigning nonchalance. She really should know better. It makes her look like a rookie driver. Her arms are locked like tension rods and her neck is stiff enough to hold up the DoJ dome.

"My father." I stop, clearing my throat to get rid of the hoarseness which has no right to be there. I long since wrote him off as having no significance, so why is the anger and disgust beginning to rise? He was worthless and I rejected any hold he ever had over me many years ago.

I am going to be calm about this. And I want Lisbon to know. So I take a deep breath and jump in. "My father… I haven't seen nor heard from him since I left the show. He disowned me just like Sean did Lee-Lee. The last thing I knew was him shouting at my back that he had no son now. Funny, I didn't have a father, but then again, I never did.

You know, from the moment I could walk, he had me out earning money. At first it was being dressed up in silly costumes so that the punters could take photos with little Jack and his beanstalk or some other fairytale character. I never had any proper schooling because that was time that could be better spent on him lining his pockets. I only got what I learned going round the other carney folk and from the books that I was able to scrounge. Rest days, I'd find the nearest town library."

Lisbon looks horrified. "But surely you had someone?"

I ignore the interruption and press on, avoiding eye contact.

"Later, he made me part of his act. One long, nasty, unsophisticated con. Horrible."

I'm prepared to be open with Lisbon -more so than with anyone since Angela - but some of those things were shameful. I don't want to remember them let alone share. It's time to move the story forward a little.

"That was until he realised my talents with memory and observation. Then I became the main act – the Boy Wonder – with him as my assistant and 'manager'. I'd pull in the crowds – you really don't want to know how - and he'd pocket the lot except for a few dollars if he was feeling generous. He'd head out to the backstage poker games. Blow it all most nights. If I was lucky, he won and spent the night drinking and whoring and I didn't see him for a day or two. If not… well, I learned how to make myself scarce. And I hoarded the money that I got so as I could buy food for us both rather than go hungry after each of his benders."

I pause, stealing a look at her face, unsurprised by the outrage and disgust I see there. My dear little avenging angel. Even you can't change the past.

"To my father, I was an unlimited blank cheque. Took me years to see through all his bull about how he kept me and every penny it had ever cost him to feed and clothe me. And, not long after, I took up with Angela. We'd been friends for years but disillusion made us closer and from there we fell in love. She vowed to escape that life. She was always braver than me, but by that stage I wasn't prepared to live without her. So, after a while, we agreed that we'd do just that, and we'd do it together. You know the rest."

I stop for a second and consciously engage my memory blocks. Continuing down this path will only show me Angela and Charlotte. Their mutilated bodies on our bed. And the blood. It's nauseating enough to re-live it all again in my dreams, when I can't override it, and I am so not going there now. Now, where was I? Ah yeah.

"You know you're right Lisbon, we should look into Alex Jane thoroughly alongside Sean Barlow. I'm sure he hates me enough to be involved and he never could stand anyone getting one up on him. Perhaps van Pelt can track him down."

Teresa still doesn't look at me, though she's exhibiting the kind of radiant attentiveness that people do when they eavesdrop on private conversations. I leave her to contemplate for a few moments whilst I fiddle with the radio, tuning into a jazz station and letting the music fill the car. I lean back and close my eyes like I'm going to nap, even though nothing is further from the truth.

Mmm, Lisbon has gone squirmy. I crack open one eye and look at her. "Out with it."

"I'm not sure if I should. If there's a reason…"

"For what?"

"Your mother. I mean. You never talk about her. You've never even mentioned her. Even a 'genius' like you must have had one, right?"

She's blushing up nicely. Awkward Lisbon is a beautiful sight.

"That's because there's nothing to say. She died when I was about 14 months old. An accident when they were assembling one of the rides. I don't really remember her. I have a few vague sense impressions but I could have imagined them."

"I'm sorry."

"No need. Stuff happens. You know that."

We lapse into silence. That easy silence of long acquaintance. Jazz pours in through the airwaves and I turn back to the scenery. Another twenty minutes or so to Stony Ridge.

* * *

We pull in next to the Airstream and I jump out, bashing on Pete and Sammy's door. Lisbon waits in the SUV, giving us space.

"Paddy!" Sammy flings herself into my arms, clinging to me like I'm a man-sized teddy bear. "Pete, look who's here."

Pete lumbers to the door, hanging back whilst his better half mauls me. Eventually Sammy lets go, jumping down from the step and throwing open the SUV driver's door.

"Pepper! You gonna sit there or are you comin' in? Kettle's on."

As Lisbon gets out of the vehicle and thumbs the central locking, Sammy grabs one of her wrists with her left hand and reaches out to me with her right. She drags us both to the door of the Airstream where Pete is waiting. He pulls me into a brief one armed hug before cautiously extending his hand to Lisbon. I step back, ushering my partner through the door and following her in. Sammy's gone to town. A pot of tea is already brewing and a selection of home baked biscuits lies ready on the table, where we make ourselves comfortable. From the wonderful smell they're fresh from the oven.

Settling in, we make cautious small talk around inconsequential topics for several minutes until Pete invites me outside to check over a few things. As we're leaving, Sammy gets out a large carrier bag of baby clothes and starts to go through them with Lisbon – this morning's take from the goodwill shop and in enough different sizes to last for the next year – whilst Teresa does her best to be interested. It's a small miracle, Sammy opening up to a cop. I'm not sure if it's returning Caitlin that has caused this or something more. At this rate, they'll end up swapping knitting patterns before they've finished!

* * *

Half an hour later, I'm ready for us to take our leave of Pete and Sammy. I haven't learned that much more than Pete had told me on the phone, except that Barlow completely lost his temper and cursed Pete uphill and down dale. He did say that he'd come inland to find the 'main man' and get satisfaction. And that he had no doubt about what the outcome would be. But that doesn't really take us any further at distinguishing between the suspects.

What I have done though is explained the gravity of the situation to Pete – mentioning no names, of course. I've also checked that he's neither seen nor heard of our seven suspects - after judicious hypnosis and a post-hypnotic suggestion to forget. Much easier without 'the law' looking over your shoulder. At least Pete assures me that they'll all be heading off in the next hour, out of state and onwards for a couple of days. They'll aim to join up with Nicky and some of the other old timers in eastern Nevada. I hope it's far enough. I would hate anything to happen to them. If they can, they'll get word to Danny for me too. Warn him to lay low. As my last remaining relative, I know he's likely on Red John's radar.

Heading back into the Airstream, I'm intrigued to see the two ladies in animated conversation. Looks like Lisbon – or should I say Pepper – has found a new friend. I'm glad. Sammy may be as prickly as a hedge of wild bramble but she has a good heart. And Teresa is broad minded enough to see past the cultural differences and accept the warm welcome for the gift that it is.

Doesn't look like we'll get to Venice Beach till tomorrow, after Lisbon's meeting with Bertram, but it's probably saved us a wasted journey. If Sean has decided to go after Red John and demand his payment, it's unlikely to end well for him. I hope he's not that foolish. I also wonder if he does really know who Red John is or whether he's been dealing with a minion.

If I thought that Barlow would cough up any information about Red John – especially given he must have talked with him in some fashion after Lorelei's capture and death – I'd be camped out by his apartment waiting. But I know it's not that simple and also that Lisbon and I are both needed here. If I was to rush off alone it would be a good opportunity for Red John to divide us.

The game has changed alright. From now on, defence is the priority. Of Lisbon and the team. And I'll take the fight to Red John's door only when it helps my cause. I'd assumed, as a currently useful tool, Sean Barlow would be safe until the end of the Eileen Turner case – an irritant and obstacle and a channel for Red John – but we all know what happens to minions after they have served their purpose. Sean may have just hastened his fate.

Still. One less scumbag in the world. There's always an upside.

Relaxing in the passenger's seat, I start to drift off to sleep. Lisbon will wake me when we get back to the CBI and I need to be alert to take the night watch. From now on, she will not sleep unguarded. And we do know now that all seven of the shortlisted serial killer suspects are located within 30 miles of Sacramento. I just hope that it's enough.

And I better tell Lisbon my other bit of news soon. The scheme is in play but the crunch part is still to come. I need Teresa's buy-in but I know it's going to choke her. I'll leave it a little longer before I tell her as I may need to find a helmet first. I'd rather keep my nose as part of my face if at all possible.


End file.
